


Even if the Stars and Moon Collide

by LokiCobalt (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bill and Harry have Memories of the Future and No Clue How They Ended Up in the Past, Body Modification, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Character Bashing, Enhanced Senses and Abilities, Fix-It of Sorts, Grey Harry, Harry Has Long Hair, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Is It Underage if His Body is Young But His Mind is Old?, Lycanthropic Syndrome, M/M, Magical Piercings, Magical Tattoos, Paganism, Pierced Harry, Tattooed Harry, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Triwizard Tournament, Unimportant Non-Graphic Character Death in First Chapter, Werewolf Bill, Werewolf Harry, Werewolf Healing, Werewolf Senses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3064481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LokiCobalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When 40 year old Harry finds himself mysteriously transported back into his fourteen year old body, he decides to take things into his own hands. After all, if he wasn't sent back in time to fix everything wrong with the world, then what the hell was he sent back for? And why change the world without having some fun. With a dangerous tournament, secrets beyond measure, and the help of his Future Husband, harry is going to take the past by storm, and damn the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even if the Stars and Moon Collide

**~*~~*~~*~**   
  
**136KRONOS**   
  
**Even if the Stars and Moon Collide**   
  
**Chapter 01 – Summer**   
  
**\---**

**\---**  
  
Harry blinks once, twice, then lurches up out of the bed, his hands instinctively going for his wand and glasses, despite the fact he has not had either for years. They are exactly where his hands lead him, sitting on the nightstand by the lumpy bed. He crams the frames back onto his nose, and then growls as the world comes into focus. He has not had to wear glasses since he was eighteen years old. Harry can see everything from his crouched position on the cold wooden floor. It looks like the Dursley’s house, and Harry can almost admire the kidnapping bastards for thinking they could trick him, by sticking so much effort into this.  
  
Harry has not needed his wand since he was eighteen either, but he takes it anyways. It is better the enemies think he is weak, or that he believes their tricks, than give up all his secrets. Harry can see many different ways to escape this room, but he does not give the bastards the satisfaction of trying to clamber awkwardly out the window. Harry puts a hand to the door and magically opens it, striding out of the room with a smirk at how easy it is. He does not let down his guard though, despite what his body language and smirk would suggest to his captors. He was trained by some of the most paranoid and sadistic minds of the wizarding world, by assassins and spies and war-wizards, and he knows better than to let down his guard. Ever.  
  
Ever since his nineteenth birthday, when another dark lord rose to power, he has been forced to learn to survive. He is the leader of the resistance for a reason. The fact the kidnappers not only managed to sneak up on him while he was sleeping, but also managed to move him somewhere else, speaks many things about how talented and well-trained they really are. Harry has killed three dark lords, and two light lords. He helped shape the wizarding world into what it is today. Harry is the one who singlehandedly brought back the ancient magics, like black and white witchcraft, and nature and elemental magic. Even after everyone else died around him, Harry has survived and turned their war-torn world into a place worth living. If these bastards want to mess with him, then so be it.  
  
He stops short of the stairs when he hears movement, swiftly hiding in the nearest room. It is the bathroom. He catches sight of himself in a mirror, and he pales. He looks like he did when he was a child, only fourteen. Except, that is impossible, because when he fell asleep he was forty. No one falls asleep one age and wakes up twenty-six years younger. He is so tiny, so thin, and so weak looking. He does not stand a chance in his younger body. He hears the footsteps come closer, crossing in front of the door, and he bursts out of the room, slamming the kidnapper against the wall with a snarl, his arm wrapped tight around her long neck.  
  
She starts babbling something, and he covers her mouth, tightening his chokehold around her neck. He holds her until she stops fighting, not long enough to kill her, but long enough to render her unconscious. He lets her fall limply to the ground, and then drags her to the bathroom, dropping her body into the tub so disposing of her will be easier. She looks so much like his aunt did that he almost freezes, but they are trying to trick him. No doubt there will be clones of both Dudley and Vernon as well.  
  
He leaves the bathroom, sneaking down the stairs without a sound. It is a little more difficult to take care of things in a de-aged body. He feels so weak and so sore, in ways he has not since Fleur and Bill decided to feed him nutrient potions so he could qualify for the training he would need to take care of that second dark lord. It was one thing to rely on luck to defeat a man whose soul was torn in half seven times, it was an entire different thing to rely on luck against a former assassin corrupted by a lust of power.  
  
There are no enemies in the downstairs rooms. With the lower levels of the house cleared, Harry sneaks into the kitchen and grabs some knives, before sneaking back up the stairs. He sneaks into each room upstairs, stopping in false-Dudley’s room to drag the fat boy to the bathroom. He sleeps through Harry moving him. So does fake-Vernon. It is so laughable, the incompetence of these idiots. They were obviously powerful enough to capture him, so what point was there to guard him with these pathetic people. They were as easy to drag to the bathroom for disposal as he imagines his actual family would have been.  
  
He slits each of their throats with a serrated blade, the cuts deep and practiced despite his use of kitchenware. They do not struggle or wake up as he kills them, and it is almost a disappointment. Harry is itching for a good fight, despite how weak and scrawny his current body is. There is no mercy in war. These bastards kidnapped him, tried to trick him, and if they expected him to leave their cronies alive, they obviously were stupider than he had thought. Harry expertly takes care of the bodies, using his magic to burn away every trace of evidence, and he takes a hot shower in the bathroom, despite it still smelling like smoke and blood. He steps out feeling refreshed, and transfigures the towels into temporary clothes, since the overly baggy pajamas he had been wearing were covered in blood, and burned away with the bodies.  
  
He sneaks back to the room he originally found himself in and freezes when he hears an owl screech. Just outside the window is a snowy owl who Harry has no doubt is Hedwig. He would recognize his familiar anywhere, even though she has been dead for just over two-decades. He pales, and lets his owl in. She nips his ear affectionately and he unloads her burden. The copy of the Prophet has the date written in bold letters at the top.  
  
 _Friday, 22 July 1994._  
  
Harry stares at the paper for a few more moments, and then faints, his eyes rolling back in his head as the shock overtakes him.  
  
\--  
  
When Harry wakes up again, it is too the sun shining in his face, and Hedwig is hooting worriedly above him. The clock on the wall reads at just after ten. Harry sits up, trying desperately to get control of his magic and thoughts before he can panic. Maybe it is not such a bad thing, waking up twenty-six years in the past. Of course, killing his only living relatives is not the best beginning to his second chance at life, but he can hardly be blamed for something he did when he was under the impression he was a prisoner of the ongoing war.  
  
“Hey girl.” He whispers at Hedwig as he sits up, who nips his nose and hoots as if scolding him for scaring her. He had not realized how much he missed this bird until now, despite never getting another owl. Hedwig seems to sense his sadness, because she nuzzles against his head, digging her talons into his bare shoulder. His fault for forgetting to wear talon guards. ‘I missed you.” Hedwig coos warmly at him, and flies off to her perch.  
  
Harry is not sure what he is supposed to do right now. On one hand, he has no limitations. He is a forty-year-old man in a fourteen-year-old body, capable of changing the future so he does not have to watch people die. He has unlimited power boiling under his skin, pure magic, and he has enough training to kill every single person in the world if he so pleased. On the other hand, he is a predator stuck in a weak and useless body. He does not know what he has brought back with him of his talents. His magic is the same as he remembers from the future, down to the wild hunger of his inner wolf.  
  
It surprised no one in the future when Harry became a wolf of sorts. Bill and Teddy both had werewolf tendencies, Teddy from his father, and Bill from Fenrir, and Harry had lived with both of them since he was eighteen. When Teddy became a full wolf the first time, they were so surprised. The bite could not change Bill, since his blood was already tainted, but it could change Harry. Harry should have become a werewolf that night, but something to do with him being the master of death made the virus change him differently. It gave him all the benefits of a werewolf, but it allowed him the ability to change into a wolf as he pleased. The moon held no sway over him, except to make him especially agitated and moody the closer the moon came.  
  
Bill and Teddy were rather jealous of his wolf too, as Bill had no ability to shift, his wolfish tendencies only giving him some of the benefits, and an extremely violent temper close to moon days. Teddy was just jealous because Harry could control his wolf, keep his mind, without having to poison it. Bill’s violent nature during the moon was his greatest curse, and he nearly killed his wife the first time she spent the night of a moon with him. She almost broke up with him that night, but she stayed when Harry offered to allow her to join their small pack of not quite werewolves. They were a pack of four, two full werewolves, and to with wolfish tendencies and wild-hearted souls, and that was the way they liked it.  
  
Anyways, Harry cannot understand how he can still feel his inner wolf, especially since his senses have been dulled back to a human level. It makes no sense. Then again, Harry is used to things making little to no sense, and receiving little to no explanations. It is the story of his life. Harry decides the best course of action would be to send letters to his friends and family, telling them he ran away because the Dursleys pissed him off, and that he would be spending summer in Diagon alley this year. That would take suspicion off him when they found out his family had vanished. He finds quills and parchment, writes out cheerful letters to everyone, and sends Hedwig off with them, trusting her to find him. He packs what he thinks he still needs, things he cannot replace, and leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
Harry rents a room at the Leaky Cauldron and then leaves for a while. He left most of his supplies, magical and otherwise, in the house, as if he ran out of the house without really thinking things through. Harry stops at Gringotts, takes care of some important business, and leaves four hours later with a headache and a satchel full of papers and forms. He spends the rest of the day filing bank papers, and going through his bank statements. He falls asleep at four in the morning, the full moon bathing him in its warm silver light.  
  
\--  
  
Harry wakes up the next morning at eight am to realize he has regained his wolfish senses, and stumbles tiredly down to the pub for breakfast. He orders some coffee, something he had not developed a taste for until he was older, and a bacon sandwich. He wolfs down his breakfast, pun very much intended, and leaves to go shopping for new clothes. In his last life, he had not cared one lick for his appearance until after Fleur took him to France for the weekend, and he realized he could look very sexy when he tried. Of course, he is going to need many potions to get back to his former, or rather future, glory. His first stop is the apothecary to buy the ingredients for the potions he needs, considering he has not invented it yet, and no stores would have it in stock. He wonders what Severus Snape would do if he learned that Harry not only invented a new potion, but that he named it after him. He imagines the man would be flattered, but he never knows with that man. Most of their odd snarky camaraderie came after his death, between Harry and his Portrait.  
  
After he is done shopping for potion ingredients, he buys himself clothes. Last life he spent a lot of time in terrible baggy clothes, but he got used to the tight clothes Fleur insisted he wear easily enough. Now baggy clothes make him feel so naked and exposed. He is used to tight clothes he can conceal many weapons in, heavy boots, and elegant but practical over-robes. Harry buys himself a wardrobe Fleur would be proud of, each item of clothing charmed beyond compare, the most important of which being the Growth charms, anti-wear charms, or at least Fleur always seemed to think so. His new wardrobe is not the most pureblood inspired, but it is perfect for him. Long black over robes, both elegant, and easy to lose in a battle. Dragon hide boots and vests. Dressy-casual button up shirts and plain black trousers. It was his favorite style in the other life, and that has yet to change. Maybe the old Harry would not have worn such nice clothes, but he is no longer just Harry.  
  
He is Harry James Potter, Lord of the Ancient and Nobel house Potter, Heir to the Black Lordship and the last known living direct descendent of the Peverell Bloodline. He is the Heir Apparent of three of the Founder’s houses, and Heir of Slytherin if he wanted the titles he gained by killing Voldemort. That includes the Riddle family inheritance and all the Baronies and titles that came with. His inheritance makes the Malfoy’s look poor, and with that power came responsibilities. The Goblins were more than willing to help him when he treated them with respect, especially since he did not have the stigmata of breaking into their bank hanging over his head just yet. Getting them to give him his titles and lordships at such a young age was a bit of a pain, considering he is not technically fourteen yet, and even fourteen was pushing them. The youngest person to claim their lordships was sixteen, and Harry is turning fourteen in a week to their knowledge, so getting them to allow him the rights he would have gained as an adult, was like trying to get the sky to turn green. Especially since, claiming his lordships is the easiest way to emancipate himself, and mark him in the magical world as a responsible adult in the eyes of the ministry.  
  
It is worth it though, because with his new status as an honorary adult, he is allowed to come to Ministry and Wizengamot meetings, and he will be regarded as an adult. He can propose new laws, vote against or for others, and he can even help in trials. This will help, because it also means he can get around age lines, and maybe he can be the only Hogwarts Champion, and save Cedric from such a gruesome fate. It also means Rita Skeeter, or any other publicist, cannot publish anything about him without his express permission, and without allowing him to read what has been written first.  
  
Nevertheless, back to the present, all those titles came with a sort of respect, and a duty to honor his houses. If Harry wanders around in baggy muggle clothes, and acts ignorant, he will disgrace his names, and all whom they protect. Harry’s ignorance last lifetime cost many people their lives and dignity, and even after he took up the mantle properly, they still had little respect for him as a lord. As a savior, yes, but his opinions did not matter much in the grand scheme of things. The first step to gaining true respect this lifetime is to look the part. Many of his ideas had merit, but were ignored because he had no respect, and this time around, he needs that respect and acknowledgement. And it is hard to get respect when you look like a homeless muggle.  
  
After shopping he heads back to the Leaky Cauldron for dinner, since he did not have time to stop for lunch during his shopping spree. Getting back to the Cauldron is a bit of a pain with how many bags he has, even with the charms making all the bags less of a burden, but he manages to do so without getting too many stares. It probably helps that no one knows that he is Harry Potter, but he knows that it is only a matter of time. Harry retires back upstairs in his room after a light dinner, and spends the rest of the night brewing the potions he needs to get himself back into shape faster than just his magical healing factor and werewolf blood can do alone.  
  
\--  
  
The next month passes in no time at all, and before he knows it, Ron is sending Hedwig back with an invitation to the Quidditch cup, and to stay with them for the last days of Summer. Harry has sent more letters in this past month, than he sent in his previous years at Hogwarts. Sirius and Remus have been the most supportive of his supposed teenage rebellion, other than Fred and George, but Hermione and Ron have been the least supportive of the bunch. It is kind of disheartening, considering he was really hoping his two best friends would stick with him in this life as well. He is going to have to do some things that they will not be proud of, things they will not understand, and he worries he will lose his family because he is trying to save them.  
  
The full moon is the same night that they plan to get him, in only three days, and Harry is already feeling his wolf stirring restlessly beneath his skin. He has not transformed since he arrived back in the past, and his wolf is unusually agitated and harried.  
  
Harry sends out a response, and then leaves the comfort of his room to take a shower in the public bathrooms. He steps out a few hours and a long soak later, feeling refreshed and smelling like sage and mint soap. He dresses up in his new clothes and joins the lunch crowd for a light meal.  
  
People stare unabashedly at him the entire time he eats, but not because he is Harry Potter. The truth is that very few people are actually aware of how he looks, for there have been no interviews or pictures to show what he looks like. They know that he is a small boy who looks like James Potter, but with Lily’s eyes. That is common knowledge, but even so it is not like everyone knows how James Potter looks. Of course, even if they were aware of his previous appearance, he doubts they would be able to recognize him without seeing his scar. Where one stood a scrawny malnourished  boy, now stands a healthy devious rouge of a teenager.  
  
Harry pays for his meal and slips graceful out of the pub. He has a few things to take care of before he goes back to the Weasley’s house, and one of those things is retrieving the Peverell ring from the Gaunt shack. He plans to destroy the Horcrux inside, and rid the gauche piece of jewelry of the curses Tom Riddle placed on them. Whether Harry will allow Voldemort to live this time around is still up to debate, but no one messes with him or his stuff and gets away unpunished. Harry destroying this specific Horcrux, as well as the one in his scar, can be seen as punishments for screwing with his family and his stuff.  
  
\--  
  
It turns out the first official hearing Harry considers vital for him to attend, is early in the afternoon the day the Weasley’s and Hermione plan to pick him up from the pub, and the morning of the second full moon of his second chance at life. Harry hurriedly gets dressed up in his nicest dress-robes, although they are still not the most pureblood inspired of official robes he could have bought. Harry has never figured out the purpose of wearing full robes, as it is a bit like wearing an uncomfortable dress, and it is completely impossible to fight in a battle when one has to hike up the skirts around his legs so he can run around.   
  
When Harry enters the circular room, at first all he receives are a mix of curious looks and annoyed disgusted scoffs from purebloods. All they see where he stands is a child, and without Dumbledore there to point him out, none of them have realized who he is. Madam Bones calmly instructs him to go up to the pedestal so he can officially register as a member, and Harry steps up with the feigned hesitance of a new member. He delicately pricks his finger on the silver athame, smearing three drops of blood across the enchanted parchment. It glows brightly as Harry sticks his thumb into his mouth for a second, licking his own blood off his already healed finger.  
  
A loud booming voice fills the room. “Lord Harry James, of house Potter. Heir of house Black.” The parchment announces, and heads whirl around to stare at him in shock. Harry represses the urge to laugh. “Status: Aged fourteen. Honorary Adult. Pureblood by Blood Adoption via Godfather. Mother, Lily Amaryllis Evans-Potter, muggleborn witch. Deceased. Father, James Charlus Potter, Pureblood wizard. Deceased. Godfather, Sirius Orion Black, Pureblood wizard. Alive.”  
  
Whispers spread around the room like wildfire, and Harry pretends to ignore them as he bows lightly to the room. “It is a pleasure to join the Lords and Ladies of the court.” he says, remembering the proper greeting with practiced ease. That gets him some impressed glances by some of the more traditional members, and they all bow back to him with various amounts of grudging reluctance and hesitance.  
  
“A pleasure to have you with us, Honorary Lord Potter.” They will call him honorary lord until he either proves himself in their eyes, or he reaches the age of adulthood, and he hopes that the majority of them will have gotten comfortable enough with him that he does not have to spend the next three years as honorary lord.  
  
Soon they are all seated, and he can tell many of the lords and ladies are displeased or confused by his seat of choice. There is an unofficial, but also extremely blatant, division of seats, with each having a side chosen for the Light, Dark, and Grey members. In Harry’s case, choosing to sit down in such an obviously neutral throne, it is like a slap in the face of the Light Lords, and a finger in the air to the Dark Lords. He ignores their discomfort, and discretely checks his goblet to make sure it has not been messed with or poisoned. He almost curses himself for his war born paranoia, but his actions draw some grudgingly respectful looks from those who noticed , as it shows he is vigilant at the very least. There is nothing suspicious about Harry’s goblet, and he scribbles an order on a small square of parchment. Two seconds later it is filled with a dark pink fragrant tea, with honey, sugar, and cream to the side. He waves them off and they disappear. He sends another square of parchment with his thanks to the house elves, knowing it is the best way to ensure his goblets are never poisoned if he is kind to them. Harry knows his message has been received when he gets a small delicate plate with a card expressing their pleasure at serving him, and some cut dragon fruit slices. Harry briefly wonders how they know his favorite fruit, then shrugs as he decides to brush it off as just another oddity of the house elves.   
  
The meeting is called to order.  
  
Harry spends the next four and a half hours, patiently arguing with the other members of the hearing. This meeting is the perfect place for him to make a statement, as it is a meeting dictating whether they should abolish Umbridge’s Werewolf restrictions. If all goes to plan, Remus could have what ever kind of job he would want. He could have a house, money, clothes. Whatever he could want, Remus could have, and so could any other Werewolf. Harry is the loudest voice for their rights, and he will one day need the creatures to be on his side.  His comments and arguments have them all thinking very deeply on the matter, from a viewpoint they never thought of.  In his last life Werewolves finally got their rights when he was thirty-six. By the end of the meeting, Harry has successfully convinced them to allow the werewolves equal rights, and convinced them that they should commission a safe house for the wolves to house themselves in on the three nights of the full moon.  
  
The meeting is dismissed. Harry makes his way towards Madam Bones, only to stop when he hears Umbridge cough falsely. All eyes turn on her. “This is bullshit!” She seethes, and Harry turns to face her. “Give these filthy creatures equal rights? Pah! They’ll walk all over us. We ought to lock them all up and kill them.”  
  
Harry smiles sweetly at her. “And I supposes we should all lock ourselves up as well?” he purrs. “After all, Lady Umbridge, where do you think we get our magic if not from the creatures our ancestors mated with all those years ago?”  
  
“I  do not have filthy creature blood in my veins, Potter.” He sees some of the lords and ladies wince at her blatant disrespectful dropping of his title. She spits in his face, and he reaches one gloves finger to wipe the spittle off cheek. “What right does a child have to speak of such matters anyways?”  
  
“Believe what you will, Lady Umbridge.” Harry responds, passive and polite as ever. “I care not for this petty argument, for your biased hatred bores me greatly. The law has already passed. Your opinion has already ceased to hold importance, and all you say since has only served to make a fool of yourself.” He hears one of the less traditional lords quietly ask if she wants aloe for her burn, and a few others chuckle. Umbridge turns a revolting shade of purple. “Now, should you ever insult me again, I will spill every single one of your dirty secrets to these fine people, and laugh as every bit of respect you have gained for yourself crumbles before your very eyes. Are we quite clear?”  
  
“Crystal, Honorary Lord.” She bites out loathingly.  
  
“Then I must bid you farewell, Lady Umbridge.” he bows mockingly, and then turns to talk with Madam Bones. She is far enough from the others that he needs not worry about silencing spells. “Madam Bones.” he bows to kiss her hand delicately.  
  
“Master Potter.” She greets back. He has to force himself not to blink in shock. Calling him master is a sign of deep respect, and he is honestly shocked to learn that someone, especially someone as powerful and respected as herself, already considers him anything other than just a childish Honorary Lord. “I was rather impressed with you today. You show remarkable intelligence for someone so young. I should like to invite you to lunch one day, if you would be amiable to the suggestion.”  
  
“I would be most honored to partake in a meal with you, Madam.” he responds. He takes a crimson envelope from his pocket and presses it into her hands. “Trust no one with the information in this envelope.” he whispers secretively to her. “You are an honorable woman, and I should like to trust in you more often. In this envelope is a vial of memories pertaining to one Sirius Black, proving his innocence.” She looks shocked, like she wishes to interrupt him, but Harry holds up a single hand. “Please keep an open mind. My Godfather has been done a great injustice, and I should like to remedy this. I am free to join you in Hogsmead on the first weekend of my schooling. You may feel free to take your time until then. My wish is that my godfather will be a free man by my Yule break. I should like to get to know him properly, madam, and I know you are one of the few people I can likely trust these days.”  
  
She nods. “I will do everything in my power to see justice for your Parents, and your godfather.” She promises.  
  
“Then I thank you.” he bows once more to her, then turns to face the people still remaining in the room. “I must away with me, My Lords, my Ladies. I have urgent business to attend.”   
  
He is warmly dismissed, apparently already fondly regarded after such a short time. He knows most of this is do to the fact his arguments are always kind, to the point, and well thought out. This gives him a modicum of respect, for it is hard to dislike someone who can tear down any opposition with intelligently thought out, lighthearted, cheerful words.  
  
He finds his way to the apparition point and apparites back to the Leaky Cauldron. Being an honorary adult allows him the right to have an apparition license and use magic outside of school like any seventeen year old can. He is actually on the wall of fame in this year, for landing the most graceful and smooth apparition since the founders, on his first try. He feels a slight amount of guilt, considering in his last life that award was for the clumsiest apparition in history, but it is not like he could, or would, tell them he is a forty year old man, and that this grace was hard earned.  
  
Harry has enough time to change into less fancy clothes, and make sure he has packed everything. Hedwig is already waiting up at the Weasley’s for him, and all his stuff has been packed neatly into his new trunk, which has been shrunken to be no bigger or heavier than a wallet and placed in his pocket. Dressed and ready to go, Harry checks himself out one last time in the mirror, and then heads out with a mischievous smirk.  
  
He cannot wait to see their faces when the see him.  
  
\--  
  
Hermione sits in the dingy crowded pub, her lips pursed into a small frown. Apparently, because Dumbledore recently found out that Harry’s relatives have gone mysteriously missing, he is fearing for Harry’s safety.  This, of course, means that instead of one or two of the Weasley’s coming to pick Harry up, they all decided it was safer if everyone came. Her mood is not helped by Ginny wearing very revealing clothes and red lipstick, which she knows is a ploy to get Harry to notice her.   
  
She is in the middle of muttering crossly to herself, annoyed by the rowdy companions she is sitting with, when she sees a rather gorgeous man slide down the banisters, and land gracefully to his feet. He saunters, and that is all it can be called with how confidently he moves, over to the bar, and leans back to talk cheerfully with one of the patrons, giving Hermione a perfect view of him. She has no problem checking him out as he laughs at something one of the women near him says, and neither do Ginny or, to Hermione’s surprise, her older brother Bill.  
  
The boy is a teenager, probably fifteen or sixteen by the look of him, with wild so black it looks almost blue hair hanging freely to his shoulders, falling almost rebelliously into his face. He is not very tall, but he is not short either, and he is slender with lean muscles. Wiry, she thinks would be the correct term. He’s wearing a teal button up shirt, the top three buttons undone, and a gold-bronze dragon scale vest that matches the half-calf high boots he’s wearing, a pair of tight black jeans tucked into his boots. She can see a small golden lily tattooed  onto his left cheekbone, a stark contrast to his porcelain pale skin, and a tribal dragon in red on his right arm, and she wonders if he has any other tattoos, or piercing for that matter. He is wearing a few silver hoops in the upper cartilage of his ear, and a tiny ruby spade in the lobe. His lip is pierced with a tiny spike, and  she is pretty sure she can see a sparkle, as if his eyebrow is pierced, but it is not on the side of his face that is turned to them.  
  
The boy turns to face their group, and Hermione and Ginny both turn, as if they weren’t blatantly checking him out, while Bill just continues to stare, a devious and flirty smirk on his lips, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge the boy to say something about it. Hermione is pretty sure his eyes were green, like willow leaves in late spring, and there was something so familiar about them. Perhaps he is an upperclassmen at Hogwarts, and that is why she found his eyes so familiar. For some reason he reminds her of Harry, and she almost laughs at that thought. She looks up again, only to see him saunter over to them.  
  
“Hey guys.” he greets. She is surprised he is talking to them at first but then the twins grin and speak.  
  
“Harry, mate, is that you?” they say in unison.  
  
He grins and Hermione almost falls out of her chair in shock. Ginny does. Ron’s mouth drops open in a perfect impression of a goldfish, and the only ones seemingly unaffected by Harry’s strange appearance are the twins, who are never surprised by anything, and Charlie and Bill, who have never met Harry before, and do not have the image of a shy malnourished boy in their heads. It is then that she notices the flirty grin he is sending Bill, and Hermione almost laughs. Poor Ginny, she’s going to be so embarrassed when she figures out that Harry is gay, or at the very least interested in her older brother.  
  
Hermione stands and embraces her friend, inwardly wincing when he stiffens up. Harry always tenses when people touch him, and she always forgets to broadcast her intentions before hand, causing him to stiffen up as if he is resisting the urge to struggle, while awkwardly patting her back or flailing his arms the whole time she embraces him. It always makes he feel so stupid and insensitive. This time he just stands with his arms clenched at his sides, and Hermione keeps it brief as possible, without making it seem like she is revolted by touching him.  
  
“It’s so good to see you.” She smiles, letting go as the others finally get their bearings and recover.  
  
“Harry, mate, look at you.” Ron gasps, his voice tinged with a bit of jealousy.  
  
“Well, that’s kind of hard to do without a mirror.” Harry answers mischievously, a grin on his lips. He laughs at Ron’s blank look. “I’m kidding.”  
  
This time they all laugh, except Mrs. Weasley. “Harry, dear, what did you do to yourself?” she scolds. “No Arour program is going to hire you now that you look like a delinquent. Oh, I hope you did those magically. We must get them removed as soon as possible.”  
  
Hermione almost shivers when Harry’s face goes cold all of a sudden, it takes all her power not to back away and hide, and he is not even looking at her.  
  
“Excuse me?” He says it so politely Hermione would be fooled into thinking he was not angry if it were not for the icy blankness of his normally openly cheerful face. “I must have missed the adoption, because as far as I know, you are neither my guardian, nor are you my mother.” Mrs. Weasley winces, opening her mouth to probably yell something, but Harry interrupts before she can get anything out. “Furthermore, if it is my wish to look like a delinquent, then that is no one’s business but my own. I won’t allow you to control me like some puppet simply because I wish to step outside of your perfectly molded idea of the world. You may be like a mother-figure to me, but I do not wish for a replacement mother just because mine was stupid and decided to get involved in a pathetic war. And as for me being an Arour, I know for a fact Arour Elizabeth Tomas has tattoos that literally cover every inch of skin she has on her body. That being said, just because you think I wish to be an Arour, doesn’t mean I still want to be one. I would rather be a professional Quidditch player to be honest, or a Dragonologist, and neither of those require me to look professional.”  
  
Mrs. Weasley sighs, and mutters something that has Harry’s eyes darkening with malicious intent, but then he softens back up when she speaks again. “You’re right. I am sorry for trying to replace your mother.”  
  
“You are forgiven.” he says cheerfully, and then he skips off to the open floo channel. “Well, shall we be off?”  
  
“Have you used Floo before?” Arthur asks curiously.  
  
“Once or twice.” Harry answers, then he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “The few times I have done so, the floo has clearly had problems with me. I always fall out in a tumbling cloud of black soot.”  
  
“We just cleaned our chimney.” Ron declares proudly. Hermione bites back a snort. Fred and George cleaned the chimney while Hermione beat Ron with a dictionary and tried to get him to do his homework, and Charlie and Bill used magic to throw chairs at each other on the Weasley’s Quidditch pitch, ignoring Molly yelling at Bill to cut his hair.  
  
“That does not seem to matter.” Harry sighs solemnly. He turns to Ginny, who has been spending the last few minutes batting her eyelashes and smiling salaciously at him, and he backs away ever so slightly. “Please stop looking at me like that.”  
  
“Like what?” Ginny flirts.  
  
“Like I’m an innocent baby seal, and you’re a fucking shark!” he says, half growling annoyance, half impatient exasperation. Ginny rears back as if slapped.  
  
“Language!” Molly Weasley scolds.  
  
“That would be English.” Harry says sweetly, and Ron makes a choked noise even as Bill laughs and says something in Egyptian. Harry answers whatever Bill said in the same smooth language, and Bill shoots him a surprised look as Harry smiles brightly, a strange light in his eyes Hermione cannot identify.  
  
“You speak Arabic?”  Bill asks, but Hermione gets the feeling there is a different question he’s hiding in the innocent inquiry.  
  
“Only modern standard Arabic, which is what most people consider Egyptian, amusingly enough. I have for a while.” Harry responds softly. “I learned from the best.” Again, Hermione gets the strangest feeling he’s saying something completely different, like they are having a conversation hidden in meaningless chatter.  
  
Ron ruins the moment, and Hermione both wishes to curse him, and thank him, because the intensity the two were looking at each other with was kind of freaking her out. “Why didn’t you tell us you can speak Egyptian? I mean, Arabic. Whatever!” he sounds offended. “Are their any other languages you speak you did not tell us about? Just how many languages do you know?”  
  
Harry grins softly. ‘Of course. I guess I completely speak a total of  nine languages.” he answers. “I speak Russian, French, Egyptian Arabic, Gaelic, Mermish, Parseltongue, Italian, Romanian, and Latin fluently. I also know how to curse and insult people in Gobbledygook, Finnish, Welsh, and Polish. I can tell people I don’t speak whatever language they are speaking in every language except Troll .”  
  
Hermione’s mouth drops open in shock. She does not understand. Harry has always been just another friend to grudgingly allow to copy her work, even though he has never actually done so. Come to think of it, she is not sure where she gained the impression that he, like Ron, is not very clever. Perhaps it is his brash way of throwing himself into anything. Of course, now that she thinks of it, Ron cannot be all that dumb either, because he is a master at chess. The sudden realization that she has been viewing her two best friends as below average strikes her hard, and she has the sudden urge to apologize to them both.  
  
Ron laughs, oblivious to her inner plight. “Bloody hell, Harry.” Molly admonishes him by yelling language and smacking him upside the head, but Ron ignores her, rubbing his head. “I didn’t realize you were so smart.”  
  
Harry shrugs unabashed. “I’m more of practical or active learner.” he admits. “Books and tests are fine, but I learn better through action and example. Just because I speak them, doesn’t mean I could read or write in them. I can only read and write in French, Egyptian Arabic, and Latin.”  
  
“That’s still impressive.” Bill says, and Hermione gets the strangest feeling he has said it so many times it is instinct, despite the fact Harry and Bill have only just met. Harry rolls his eyes and says something in the same Egyptian Modern Arabic that they had spoken in earlier, and whatever he said has Bill grinning, so Hermione suspects he conceded to his point.  
  
There are no more words spoken because they realize they have been blocking the floo network, and then all arrive back home. Hermione tumbles out of the floo and tries desperately not to throw up, and nearly laughs when Harry comes right after her, as if the chimney spit him out, a cloud of soot surrounding him. Bill, who arrived before her, silently casts a spell to clean him, and Harry shoots the elder boy a grateful look. Ron steps out of the floo, grabs Harry and Hermione by the arms, and drags them upstairs to talk privately.  
  
They leave the room laughing about thirty minutes later, with Ron red in the face after saying Harry has his blessing to pursue his elder brother, and leaving Hermione very impressed with the creativity of his shovel talk. After a disastrous dinner, everyone heads to bed, and Harry heads to borrow their shower, claiming after such a long day a shower is all he needs to get his mind calm enough to sleep. Hermione sees Bill drag Harry into his room, and she hides so she can see what is going on.  
  
Hermione is not a stupid girl. Something strange is happening, and she means to find out what.  
  
\--  
  
Dinner is a rather tense and strained affair, and Harry almost feels bad. Almost. Mrs. Weasley really should have been a bit less pushy about him eating fatty foods, especially after his accidental blow up at her clear disgust at the sight of his piercing and tattoos. Maybe if she had not pushed him, once again, he would not have blown up at he, but she just had to try the smothering mothering again, and Harry ended up cursing her in five different languages, all the while yelling at her that he has to keep a strict diet.  
  
After dinner and desert is finished, and Harry and Molly have once again apologized to one another, they head to bed. They have to get up very early tomorrow to catch the portkey to the World Quidditch Cup, and Harry is eternally grateful, because he will be able to run freely while they sleep, and he does not have to do it alone.  
  
Harry is passing by one room to go borrow the shower, ready to sit under the hot spray for a few minutes so he can be sure they are all asleep, when a hand grabs his wrist, and he is slammed against the door as it closes him in. His war instincts tell him to struggle, but before he can act, his wolf smells the familiar scent of Bill Weasley. Harry opens his eyes and grins as his green meet Bill’s blue.  
  
Harry probably would not have noticed that Bill had somehow made it back to the past like him, if it were not for him calling Harry his moon in Arabic, obviously not realizing he was the same. My love is my moon. They had both gotten the words tattooed in Arabic on their ring fingers when Fleur and Bill finally realized they were better off as friends, and Bill and Harry got married. It was the first thing Bill taught him to say, after the first time he called him his moon, and it was like their way of saying they loved each other before they were ready to say the words just yet.  
  
Bill and Harry throw up silencing charms and privacy spells with ease, not taking their eyes off each other.  
  
“Hi.” he says softly, and cringes at the lameness. Bill chuckles.  
  
“Hi.” he whispers. His eyes search Harry’s for a second, and Harry drops his eyes to the elder man’s lips, looking right back into his ice blue eyes with a devious smirk. Harry has enough time to undo his once husband’s ponytail, before his lips are being attacked. They had been separated before they ended up in the past, and neither had seen each other in nearly three months. Add to that the month Harry and Bill spent away from each other in the second  chance at life, the already charged atmosphere because of the moon, and they are a pair of affection starved, desperate half-wolves.  
  
Neither is very patient this night, but it matters very little in the grand scheme of things. Their first time together reunion could have been a bit more romantic than frantic kissing in the moonlit room, with Harry sandwiched so tightly between Bill and the door that he can scarcely breathe, both of them with their hands fisted in the others hair, one of Bill’s hands holding him up just enough to give them both perfect friction as they rock and thrust against each other. Harry vanishes the mess as they lean against the door, panting heavily into each other’s mouths, enjoying the afterglow.  
  
“Great Artemis, my love, I missed you so.” Bill whispers, burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. “When I woke up in my old bed, Fred and George staring down at me, I almost killed them all. I thought I would have to find a way to convince you to fall in love with me once more, and I worried if you would love me as I am now. Seeing you again, I almost jumped you in the Cauldron, consequences be damned, especially since you looked so much like my Harry that it ached. When you responded, when you called me your love, I would have dragged you away from them and made you mine once more, until neither of us could move, but then Ron interrupted.”  
  
“I did kill my family.” Harry admits. “I thought they were imposters, part of some elaborate trick, until I saw Hedwig. I was not sure how I would survive if you were to reject me in this life. My wolf could feel yours the moment I stepped into the pub, and I had to force myself not to shove you against a table and kiss you until the two of us could not breathe. I thought it was my wolf recognizing you as pack, and did not even let myself contemplate the idea that you could have ended up in the past with me, for fear that I’d end up killing myself in despair if I let myself hope.”  
  
Bill whines softly into his neck, a distressed sad sound, and his  hands grip Harry’s hips. Harry can feel his wolf shift restlessly under his skin, and he feels Bill’s soft laughter against his skin. “I can shift into a wolf now.” he informs, and Harry regards him with interest. “I shifted into a wolf last full moon by complete accident.” He leans back just enough to look into Harry’s eyes, and then he glances over his shoulder to look at the moon through the open window. “Wanna run with me for a little bit? We have to get up in six hours, at four in the morning, but I know you and I can function on four or five hours.”  
  
With Harry’s nod they cancel their privacy charms, and they wander down the stairs to sneak out the doors and into the yard. The two shift into wolf forms, Bill into a large wolf with dark russet red fur, and Harry into a smaller wolf with dark dusty grey-black fur. They play and run around the yard, wild and free, for a few hours, before sneaking back into the house and heading to their separate rooms. Bill gives Harry one last kiss before sending him back to his own sleeping bag and they split ways, unaware that Hermione saw them running around as wolves under the moon. Unaware that she watched them kiss, even if their privacy charms prevented her from knowing what they did in the isolation of the bedroom only moments before they went for their moonlit run.  
  
~*~~*~~*~


End file.
